


i wanna be here when morning comes

by micksgotkicks



Series: five times my writing was better than the magicians [5]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, it's what they deserve, spoiler free of 4x11, they're basically just holding each other for the entire fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-01 09:23:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18333200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micksgotkicks/pseuds/micksgotkicks
Summary: Eliot's back, Quentin missed him, and sometimes a hug isn't enough (but it sure helps).





	i wanna be here when morning comes

**Author's Note:**

> part five—this one's the softest i think and therefore one of my favorites
> 
> title and lyrics from just my soul responding by amber run

_and it's just my soul responding  
to the heavy heart i'm holding_

~

They fall asleep together in one of the upstairs rooms of Kady's apartment.

Eliot had been exhausted, trying desperately to stay awake but Margo had insisted Quentin take him to a bed.

“He needs rest.” She commanded it, like a king.

Quentin had planned to leave, to wrap Eliot up safe and snug in all of the blankets and tiptoe out to make sure everyone else was doing alright, but Eliot puts a wrench in that plan.

Despite his droopy eyes, he latches onto Quentin’s arm. Eliot stares at him, half his face concealed by the pillow.

“Stay.”

It’s a whisper, a plead that Quentin in no way can refuse.

“Please.”

Quentin has already made up his mind, though. He pulls back the covers and slides between the sheets. They fit together naturally, Quentin's head tucked under Eliot's chin and Eliot's arm draped over his waist. Quentin easily relaxes into the comfortable familiarity of sharing a bed with him.

As Quentin closes his eyes, he thinks of Fillory. He thinks of colored mosaic tiles and cool, summer nights and freshly picked peach juice dripping down Eliot’s chin. His dreams are sweet, like peaches and plums.

When he finally wakes up, probably hours later, he’s face-to-face with Eliot, their breaths mingling in what little space is left between them.

Eliot’s watching him again with what Quentin almost dares to describe as a fond look on his face.

Eliot continues to stare until Quentin starts to feel like some kind of specimen. It’s far from a bad thing, though. How can it be? It’s Eliot.

“I missed you.” Quentin’s voice is more strained than he realized.

Eliot lifts a hand, brushing it through Quentin’s hair and tucking a strand behind his ear. It’s an intimacy they had both grown used to in another time, another place.

“You saved me.” Eliot’s voice is barely above a whisper.

Quentin shakes his head. “Julia saved you.”

“And I’ll thank her again,” Eliot says, “but you didn’t give up on me.”

Quentin’s heart pounds in his chest. “I don’t think I could give up on you if I tried.”

Eliot’s still petting his hair, a gentle rhythm from just above his ear down to the tips of his hair. It’s soothing, a reminder that Eliot is very alive, laying across from him.

“You saved me in my mind, too.” Eliot pauses his ministrations, meeting Quentin’s gaze with a firm one of his own. “I know it wasn’t technically you, just a memory but“—Eliot sucks in a shaky breath of air—“you’re the reason I was able to take back control of my body.”

Quentin stares at him for a long moment. “You did that all on your own.”

“No.” Eliot sits up, propping himself on his elbow. “I did it because of you.”

Quentin opens his mouth to protest, but Eliot cuts him off.

“I was trapped in my memories, a so-called _happy place_ where I was safe from the other creatures lurking in the Monster’s head. The only way to get out was to find my most traumatic memory and, with the help of you, Margo, and Fen, I did.”

Quentin raises an eyebrow. “Me, Margo, and Fen?”

Eliot purses his lips. “Memories of you,” he says, “to help me fight off those creatures. I’m sure there’s some nerdy reference I could relate this to but I’m not you, so.”

He reaches a hand out, brushing another strand of hair out of Quentin’s eyes. The touch leaves Quentin’s face warm and wishing for more.

“What was your most traumatic memory?” And Quentin instantly kicks himself for asking. Eliot’s been through enough, and reliving a horrible memory not once but twice, all because Quentin couldn’t keep his mouth shut, probably wasn’t helping.

Instead of the placating, incredulous look he expects, Eliot just stares at him.

“Sorry, I—”

“It was you.”

Quentin freezes. “What?”

“I told you,” Eliot says, “it was you. You were the reason I was able to break through.”

Quentin gapes at him, breath caught in his throat.

Eliot presses a hand to his cheek, threading the tips of his fingers in his hair. Quentin shivers from the contact. It reminds him of a memory, of Eliot’s borderline obsession with his hair while they were in Fillory, so much so that Quentin rarely cut it.

“My most traumatic memory,” Eliot’s voice is soft, so fucking soft when it has no right to be. “The thing I regretted the most was turning you down.”

Quentin’s stomach drops.

Eliot traces his thumb along his jawline, a dejected look crossing his face.

“I’ve never been more wrong in my life, and I had to face that. I was stupid, for turning you down, breaking your heart, all because I was scared.”

“El—”

“I am so fucking in love with you, Q.” Eliot is close again, laying on his side on the bed so he’s mirroring Quentin, and sliding his hand around to rest on the back of his neck. “And I’m sorry.”

Quentin doesn’t know what else he can do, so he kisses him. His fingers tangle into Eliot’s shirt, twisting the fabric until it strains. Eliot lets out a very _un-Eliot-like_ gasp, sinking into the kiss like it’s where he’s meant to be.

It isn’t heated or particularly sexy, the angle a bit odd and Eliot’s knee knocking against Quentin’s elbow, but it’s so much better than any foggy memory Quentin has. They’re tangled together and he grips Eliot like a vice, like it’s all he’s ever wanted, like he’s never letting go.

They pull apart, breathless and laughing like teenagers getting tipsy for the first time.

“I, uh,” Quentin stumbles over his words. He leans in and kisses Eliot again, closed-mouthed and quick on the lips. “I love you, too. And I missed you.”

Eliot’s smile is blinding as he takes Quentin’s hand. “I don’t think I deserve you.”

“I don’t care. I want _you,_ Eliot. I waited for weeks, _months,_ hanging on the hope that I’d see you again.”

Eliot links their fingers together, bringing Quentin’s hand up to his mouth and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “My knight in jeans and a button-up.”

Quentin laughs, and then yawns, because despite a few hours rest, he’s still exhausted.

Eliot strokes the skin between Quentin’s fingers, pressing kisses to his finger pads like they’re the most precious thing in the world. “Get some rest, Q.”

Quentin blinks up at him. “You’ll be here when I wake up?”

Eliot leans closer, kissing Quentin tenderly. 

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be."

~

_and it's just my soul responding  
to the love you took from me_

**Author's Note:**

> this is the last one and i managed to publish it right before 4x11, which i'm kinda proud of tbh. i've had such a blast writing these and you guys have been so sweet. thank you so much for reading!
> 
> let's hope these boys get a happy ending (or at least, as much of one as the magicians is willing to give) ;3


End file.
